


Concession

by Impressioniste



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 22:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impressioniste/pseuds/Impressioniste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carver and Anders are both left behind when Hawke ventures forth on the Deep Roads Expedition. Carver decides to visit Anders at his clinic to discuss something of vital importance. Mildly-implied Anders/Male Hawke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concession

It had been a very long day in Anders’ Darktown clinic, but just because the sun was beginning to set on the city of Kirkwall did not mean his work was done—far from it, in fact. He was currently in the middle of applying some healing salve to a patient’s minor burns after magically repairing a large amount of extensive internal damage, taking slow, deep deep breaths as he worked, trying to regain his stamina.

He expected the patients to keep trickling in until he finally snuffed out the lantern hanging over the clinic’s doors, so he didn’t think much of it when he heard a set of thick-booted footsteps plodding up behind him, past the designated waiting area where his patients tended to gather. His back was turned and he was tired, rubbing a salve-tipped finger against his temple before sighing and addressing the newcomer without looking up.

“If you’re not decapitated or dismembered, you’ll need to wait like everyone else.”

There w as no reply, no sound of footsteps shuffling either closer or further away, and Anders frowned as he turned to see who it was and what they wanted.

“What’s so important that—Oh. _Carver_.” Anders turned and regarded the younger Hawke brother with with flat surprise. He was certainly the last person that Anders had expected to see; Carver never came to the clinic by himself, not ever, not for anything. He avoided the entire Undercity like it was cursed, especially Anders’ clinic.

  
Anders’ jaw set itself straight as he turned back to his patient and wrapped a clean bandage around the wound he had just tended. “Don’t pick at it, you’ll make it worse.”  
  
“Nice to see you, too,” Carver chirped, crossing his arms before falling silent again, watching Anders tend his patients. The mage was antagonistic and prickly sometimes, yes, but undeniably good at what he did when it came to healing. His hands were steady and strong and quick and gentle, soothing and sedating patients of all kinds as he treated their wounds and cured their ills.  
  
“You came all the way down here _just_ to snipe at me,” Anders sighed, grabbing a filthy rag from a nearby bench and wiping his hands. “I didn’t know you cared.”  
  
“My brother might fall for your little persecution complex, but it’s got no effect on me, so you might as well not waste your breath,” Carver snapped.  
  
“I don’t think your brother gives two bits about that,” Anders snorted, stiffening visibly at the mention of Hawke. He turned sharply away from both Carver and his patient and walked briskly to his desk, tossing the dirty, bloodied rag into a pile of similarly soiled scraps of cloth beside him.  
  
Carver came up slowly behind Anders, his boots scratching and scraping against the rough dirt covering the solid stone floor.  
  
“Are you really that stupid?” Carver scoffed. “Even I’m not _that_ dense.”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“You really don’t get it, do you? Of course you don’t. You’ve only ever cared about yourself.”  
  
Anders leaned forward and sighed heavily. “I don’t have time for your nonsense right now, Carver. I have things to—”  
  
“Why do you think my brother left us both behind?” Carver cut in before Anders could finish brushing him off.  
  
Anders opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. He settled for picking at a loose thread on his coat.  
  
“That’s how it’s always been with him. That’s what he does whenever he cares about anything. Maker, you’d think you of all people would get the whole ‘running away from your problems’ bit.”  
  
Anders flinched at that, laying his palms flat on the top of his desk as he closed his eyes. For once, it seemed like Carver had a point, and he was at a loss for a flippant reply that would change the subject.  
  
“I don’t expect you to understand, just make sure he doesn’t do anything too stupid.”  
  
“Your brother is perfectly capable of taking care of himself.” A patient groaned softly somewhere in the background, and Anders sighed.  
  
“Not while he’s on this crusade to reunite us all with Mother’s past,” Carver scowled. “Father must be rolling in his grave at all this nonsense.”  
  
“Your father spent his life running to keep all of you safe, didn’t he?”  
  
“Not like this,” Carver spat, his nose crinkling with disdain. “Father was always on about the strength of a person’s character, not what they were born into. He wouldn’t approve of this wild goose chase for family status Mother has us on.”  
  
“You don’t want to protect your family?” Anders frowned.  
  
“I do. And I will.”  
  
“Well, good luck with that.”  
  
“Maker’s breath…” Carver muttered. “Look, just watch out for him, all right?”  
  
“I still don’t understand why you came to me with this.”  
  
“Because this city’s a cesspit and my brother trusts people he shouldn’t,” Carver snapped sharply. “Just because Hightown smells better doesn’t mean it isn’t rotten.”  
  
“You could just tell him all this yourself, you know.” Anders pushed himself back from the desk in an attempt to break away from the conversation and change the subject. It was all skirting so very close to things he didn’t want to talk about, period, and certainly not with Carver, of all people, no matter how much he hinted at knowing, already. Better to nip the discussion in the bud right here.  
  
“I won’t be here,” Carver said, flatly.  
  
“Starting an expedition of your own?” Anders tried to be flip, but the ‘joke’ fell flat.  
  
There was a long, awkward pause after that, so long that Anders actually turned back to face Carver, out of concern.  
  
“I’m joining the templars,” he said, at last.  
  
Anders blinked, his hands dropping limply to his sides. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly. Did you just say—”  
  
“You heard me.”  
  
Anger flashed in Anders’ eyes, he felt his blood begin to boil. Acid stung the back of his throat. “Carver, if this is some kind of joke…”  
  
“It’s not a joke.” Carver’s voice was stone.  
  
“You came here to tell **me** , of all people, that you’re running off to join the **templars**. What part of that sounded like a good idea?” Anders gritted his teeth. Even if he wanted to, there was nothing he could do about it here, not with so many patients in the clinic. “Are you _out of your bloody mind_? You’d side with the people that make our lives torture, just because you’re jealous of your brother—”  
  
“I’m not jealous!” Carver growled, a little too loudly. “I mean, fine, maybe I am, but that’s not—”  
  
“Keep your voice down, you’re disturbing my patients,” Anders snapped, his own voice little more than a rough growl, as well.  
  
“I don’t expect you to understand,” Carver replied, his voice a little softer, though he didn’t apologize.  
  
“Yes, well. How _kind_ of you,” Anders hissed. “Come ask me to look out for your brother, and then go stab him in the back yourself. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do that don’t consist of joining an order that oppresses and abuses people unjustly to suit their whims. You know the way out.”  
  
Carver made for the door in silence, turning and pausing as he stood before it, looking out at the filthy, dusty tunnel that stretched out before him.  
  
“Just make sure he doesn’t get his fool self killed, will you?”  
  
Before Anders could say or do anything else, he was gone. Anders’ heart sank like a stone dropping into the pit of his stomach, adrenaline pumped like lifeblood through his veins, intertwined with anger and disgust. Part of him hoped that this was all some sick, sadistic joke on Carver’s part, but deep down, he knew it was not. Hawke was going to be completely devastated, and there was really nothing he could do about it except be there when the time came.  
  
For the second time in his life, the thought of fighting Darkspawn in the Deep Roads suddenly seemed like a happy alternative to reality.


End file.
